


When Served Sweetly

by Chokopoppo



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Dangerous Tenderness, M/M, Parties, Supportiveness with sinister undertones, Teacher-Student Relationship, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-12-06 21:21:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18225572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chokopoppo/pseuds/Chokopoppo
Summary: Skywarp's been stood up before. He can handle it just fine on his own.It is nice when he doesn't have to, though.





	When Served Sweetly

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all. Dez claimed I couldn't write a fic in under 5k words, and I'm here to prove that motherfucker wrong, so here we go. It _is_ funny, the last fic i posted took four months to workshop and this one came out in two days. I'm getting better.
> 
> This is from the same universe as Welcome! Everything is Fine., but is not plot relevant, so it gets to sit over here in a special room in fic detention, instead of having lunch with its friends. It's not exactly the same as the IDW universe, so if you're wondering why Skywarp is a music student instead of a...teleportation student or whatever he studied, you can blame opera for existing in this canon.
> 
> You can find me on [tumblr](http://www.chokopoppo.tumblr.com), or you can not! I am not a beggar.

It’s kind of hot, in the bar. That heat you get when a bunch of mechs are all dumping overcharged heatsinks into the air in big blasts from their vents, without thinking about the enclosed space. Everyone’s running hot, dumping heat, and then getting hotter ‘cause of all the dumped heat and dumping again. Skywarp’s familiar with the kind of heat you get in an overcrowded space. He’s worked at Thundercracker’s bar long enough.

It’s also kind of dark. You get that, in bars. Muggy and slightly wet from the condensation on frozen engex bottles getting damp in the heat. There’s a lot of bottles, moving around. People keep clinking glasses and crowing and hollering. Skywarp sits, out of place, at the bar. Somewhere, he hears a chant for one of the other students to _chug, chug, chug_ , and clenches his glass nervously. He would join in, but he doesn’t know any of them. And what if they ask _him_ to _chug, chug, chug?_ He can only afford one drink.

He probably shouldn’t have come.

But he couldn’t just _not come,_ right? He was _invited._ Not even invited by a seeker or a flier, either. It was a cute little moped he knows from his Analytical Techniques lecture. Really smart. He asked Skywarp to be his plus-one, and when he texted the group chat to ask if he should go, Thundercracker said he could make good connections and Starscream told him to stop being such a worm and suck the guy’s spike already, since he was _so busy_ hanging out with _that_ guy instead of _us._ So. Skywarp’s here. The moped isn’t.

Maybe he’s sick. Maybe he’s tired—Skywarp’s pretty sure the chancellor asked him to present at the researchdonor symposium earlier today, that’s what everyone’s celebrating. Maybe he asked a seeker to a party as a joke, and he’s somewhere else, laughing in the corner with his real friends at the sight of Skywarp nursing one lukewarm drink for an hour and a half.

It was cold when he bought it, which is the important thing. He had, like, two sips of it while it was still cold. It’s just that it’s so hot in this room, is all. 

_::I think I got stood up,::_ he sends the group chat, feeling miserable.

_::Maybe he got scared,::_ Thundercracker pings back, not twenty seconds later, _::he’s intimidated by your good looks. Find someone else? Maybe if you dance up on a lithe young microscope or something, he’ll get his helm out of his aft and realize what he’s missing.::_

_::Fuck that. Hunt that worm down and make him pay,::_ Starscream pings. _::What’s he look like? Other than a coward. I’ll do it for you. I’ll put him in the river with all his circuits unplugged and his aux cables in a knot.::_

_::Not helpful, Star.::_

_::It’s a little helpful,::_ Skywarp lies, _::thanks, guys. I think I’m just gonna finish my drink and go home.::_

_::Warp, come on. It’s not an evening without murder.::_

_::Star, S T O P. There’s got to be someone worth staying there for. Look around. Any nice paint jobs? Wait, send pictures.::_

_::Talking to you two was a mistake, and I’m closing this line now,::_ Skywarp responds, smiling into the rim of his drink, _::I’ll see you this weekend.::_

_::Send pictures of the_ guy. _Your old buddy Starscream will take care of_ everything _for you, babydoll.::_

_::Star, I said S T O P P P P::_

The line closes without any fuss—Skywarp gets a couple pings that his trine is still dropping messages in it, and then a few pings from each of them, individually, both giving him their own stupid pep talk about finding love or doing murder, which, like, neither of them have ever done, so it’s sweet but also they can shut the fuck up about it. He doesn’t open any of them. His mood _is_ kind of bucked by that old and profound truth, that Seekers Protect Seekers, but he doesn’t really want to talk.

He swishes his glass and realizes it’s nothing but once-frozen tin cooler-balls and about two sips of engex. With a sigh, he drains it.

“Having fun?”

The voice comes from behind him, low and mellifluous, and even though no one’s talked to Skywarp all night, it manages not to startle him. It soothes its way into his processor, a warm presence at his wingtip, and when he turns, he realizes he’s been given enough room to do so. He doesn’t get that as much at the university. Mostly, he gets tapped on the shoulder, and then has to apologize for braining some thoughtless grounder who forgot wingspans existed.

He finds himself face to face—well, optic to optics, anyway—with the University’s Forger, and feels his biolights brighten visibly in the dim. “Oh, chancellor, I didn’t realize you were here,” he says, “please, uh, allow me to say how grateful I am for the opportunity to attend—“

A hand comes up before his face, and the words halt before he realizes he’s halting them. “There’s no need for you to stand on formality, Skywarp,” he says, and Skywarp feels a little queasy thrill that _he knows my name,_ “I dislike honorifics intensely in an academic setting. You know my name. Use it.”

“Right. Um.” Skywarp’s gaze burns down at his empty glass. “Shockwave? I—thank you for—“

“Let me get another drink for you,” Shockwave interrupts, waving at the bartender. “What were you having?”

“Oh—no, I couldn’t possibly impose—“

“It’s not an imposition. I came to see how you were doing. You looked unhappy at an event I arranged. If anything, I am imposing on _you._ ”

“Oh, no, the party’s _great,_ ” Skywarp lies, “really, uh, fantastic job. Good location. Everyone’s having a good time.”

“You’re not,” Shockwave says, leaning on the bar with one elbow, angling himself towards Skywarp. The easy sink of heat coming off of him is different from the rest of the overcharged mechs laughing too loudly and patting themselves on the back—either he hasn’t been drinking, or he’s amazing at holding his liquor. It’s a slow, languid pull, the kind of heat you get off an engine that doesn’t have anything to worry about or anywhere to be. With his frame blocking Skywarp’s line of sight to the rest of the bar, the sound from all around them feels dimmed, like they’re closed off, private even in public. His spark pulses in his chassis. “Is something wrong?”

It’s kind of embarrassing—at least, it should be embarrassing—to admit that he’s here as a plus one, that he’s here as a joke, but there’s something about Shockwave’s field, understanding and curious, that makes him feel easy on his pedes. “Well, I wasn’t—I didn’t present at the symposium, I’m just here as a guest,” Skywarp admits, “I was supposed to come with Lerinx? He was presenting about the, um, physiology of brassformers, he invited me to meet him here afterwards—uh, and I don’t really know anyone else, they’re all a couple semesters ahead of me—but I think he must have just gone home? I don’t know if he, forgot—“ he pauses, laughs nervously. “Anyway, he’s not here, and I am. I figured I’d wait up a while, but—the longer you wait, the worse it feels, you know?”

Shockwave’s optic dims. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I _do_ know how you feel. There’s little that’s more isolating than being the only one in a room who is…unique.”

Skywarp looks down at the blaster where the chancellor’s left hand should be. When he looks up again, Shockwave is looking away, staring over the bar. There’s something quietly contemplative about his posture, and Skywarp feels uncomfortable breaking his bubble of silence.

Two drinks arrive on the bar in front of them. “You really don’t have to buy me anything,” he tries, feeling very thirsty but stubborn in his pride, “It’s not the first time this has happened. I’m really alright."

Shockwave’s engine hums soothingly. “Of course you are,” he says, “you’re stronger than some of your comrades. Hardened. Like me.”

Skywarp’s biolights flush, pleased.

“But there’s no shame in taking a drink every once in a while,” Shockwave continues. “I’m not offering you _charity,_ you needn’t feel that you’re being pitied. I _want_ to buy this for you. It’s something friends do for each other.”

“Friends?”

“If you’ll let me,” Shockwave says.

Skywarp realizes he’s smiling. “Alright,” he says, and picks up his glass. “But only if you’re having one with me.”

It’s impossible to tell, with the empurata, but he _thinks_ Shockwave would be smiling, too, if he could smile. Their glasses clink together at Skywarp’s urging, and they drink.

“I admit, I do feel a little guilty,” Shockwave says, turning slightly and leaning his back against the bar, opening the cage of his chassis to expose Skywarp to the sights and sounds of the bar again. They feel less unfriendly, now. His gaze drifts over the new curve of Shockwave’s body, the places where he bends and folds. He’s genuinely enormous, all thick metal armor and seams pulled taut. “I shouldn’t have left you here for so long. To be honest, I noticed you right away.”

Skywarp shrugs. “I was waiting for someone,” he says, leaning on the bar with one elbow, angling his whole body towards his companion. “You couldn’t’ve known. I probably didn’t look all that forlorn at first, anyway.”

“I still feel responsible.”

“What, that Lerinx is a jackass? Come on. You didn’t have anything to do with that.”

Soundwave glances at him, biolights flickering guiltily. “But I did,” he says, sounding apologetic, “I suggested that he ask you in the first place.”

His spark skips. “You did?”

“I wanted to meet you,” Shockwave admits, “I’ve been watching your progress for some time now. A seeker from the shades, forged from nothing but nevertheless in my university, studying fine art? Top of his class—maybe _selectively_ brilliant, but brilliant none the less. I’ve listened to your compositions. You’re only in—what, your second year? But you compose like a grantfund student. I foresee great strides from you. A new movement, perhaps. Something avant-garde. Something…unique.”

No one has ever called Skywarp _brilliant_ before. No one has ever even called him _smart._ He stares down at his drink, hot from the muggy atmosphere and flustered and pleased, and he takes a sip. It cools his intake. He feels fuzzy and soft. “I didn’t know you paid any attention to the arts programs,” he says after a moment.

“I’ve never had much of an eye for it,” he admits, “even when I had two. But I know beauty when I see it, even if I don’t have the vocabulary to…make conversation.” He turns his head to look at Skywarp. It’s not just a lingering glance. It’s a stare, long and pointed. In another setting, it would be intimidating. Here, so close he can hear spark plugs pumping in the chancellor’s engine…

He really is handsome. Skywarp always hears people talk about the senator, his beautiful blue-green colors, his faceplate, his smile, _what a shame, what a shame, what a waste of a mech--_ Skywarp prefers the new paint job. His optic is bright in the low light, his frame is huge. Omnipresent. It stabs out here and there, it insists on being seen. No hiding. Wherever he goes, there he is, a visual draw even in the musty dark, even in the center of a city.

The engex feels cool, frozen, on his glossa. He drinks like a dying thing, like the chill can calm him down. Everything is soft around the edges. Shockwave’s gaze lingers, sends tendrils of charge over his frame.

“Let me get you another,” Shockwave is saying, and Skywarp realizes he’s drained his glass.

He opens his mouth to claim that he couldn’t possibly, but Shockwave puts a hand on his shoulder, physical and heavy on his body, hot against him, and instead, he says “only if you insist.”

“I do insist,” Shockwave muses, and the bartender plants two glasses in front of them, faster than the first time. Skywarp wonders, blithely, whether he already had them prepared.

Their glasses clink. Skywarp can’t remember if Shockwave drank his last glass. He wasn’t paying attention. He has a new glass, now, with new engex. Maybe it doesn’t matter if he’s been drinking or not. His hand is still on Skywarp’s frame, heavy and real. Heavy.

It’s hot—it’s hot, here, and dark. You get that, in bars—

The hand on his shoulder shifts, lingers at the back of his neck. His wings shudder.

“I’m sure I’ve imposed on you long enough,” Shockwave says, and Skywarp blinks hazily up at him. He opens his mouth to disagree, but he can’t find the words that he needs. “I don’t intend to leave you alone, don’t worry. Come on, come with me.”

Skywarp realizes he’s being moved off his stool, gently guided away from the bar towards the tables and booths on the other side of the room. When he’s standing on the ground, without the extra height of the elevated seat, Shockwave feels even bigger, an enormous presence filling the space behind him. The hand on his back feels almost possessive. Fingers find their way between transformation seams near his wings.

“Let me introduce you,” Shockwave says, “Skywarp, this is Skids, from our theoretics department, and Windcharger, who’s one of our interdimensional physics grantfunds.”

“I study magnets,” Windcharger says, with a sniff. “Nice to meet you, Skywarp. That’s a hell of a wingspan you’ve got there.” He holds a hand out to shake.

“Please tell me I’ve never clocked you with them,” Skywarp groans, taking it. Skids laughs.

“You know, I think I’ve seen you around,” he says, “you’re in the arts department, right? Do you have a specialty, or are you doing a general degree, seeing what it is you like?”

“You _always_ bring up general degrees,” Windcharger gripes, “you’re the only one who does that! Just pick a major already!”

“It’s not my fault if everything is interesting! Why study only one discipline when you could study _all_ of them?”

Their body language shifts, and Skywarp feels himself being absorbed into their small group. As he opens his mouth to explain that he’s in the music department, actually, specializing in composition and the properties of wavelengths on physical vibration, the hand on his neck slips down. Two fingers trailing down the arc of his back, gently, and disappear as Shockwave retreats from the group, silently excusing himself to continue making rounds.

“That’s so interesting,” Skids is saying, “all I know about music is Ponte’s stuff from, like, a zillion years ago. I saw _Trials of the Pyramids_ once. Is he—like, do composers respect him, or do they think he’s too mainstream?”

“Everyone’s got their own opinion on Ponte,” Skywarp replies, his gaze fixed firmly over Skids’ shoulder, “I think his earlier work was fantastic, but everything he does now is really safe. It’s because he’s got patrons now, I guess, you don’t want to get too radical.”

His companions nod, muttering agreements. Windcharger makes some comment about how the government seems to be shutting art out of the public eye. Skids makes some reply.

Skywarp nods along. His optics are focused on the retreating figure of Shockwave, distant and barely visible in the heat and the dark.


End file.
